


Adventures in Babysitting

by the_random_writer



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Babysitting, Breakfast, Innuendo, M/M, Naughty Uncle, Pancakes, Swearing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 02:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: They've dealt with everything from mob bosses to serial killers. Can Ty and Zane handle a five-year-old kid?There's not much in canon for the wee one, so character interpretations are all my own :-)





	Adventures in Babysitting

The sound of breathing woke him.

Heavy and loud, but smooth and steady at the same time, which told him the person making the noise had recently exerted themselves, but wasn't in any physical or emotional pain.

The breather was close—no more than a metre or so from his head. If he reached out, he could probably touch them.

Not that Ty intended to do anything as foolish as move. This game had rules, the first and most important rule being, as long as he didn't move, he was safe. So, he held his eyes as still as he could, kept his own breaths slow and shallow, and did his best to pretend to be dead.

Next to him, Zane shuffled his legs.

The breathing quickened—the movement had caught the enemy's gaze.

That was a shame.

Ty loved his husband very much, but the Texan knew as well as he did that when the game was as savage as this, only the strongest and most focused survived. If Ty had to sacrifice Zane to save himself, so be it.

Zane's shuffling stopped.

The breathing slowed; the silent battle of wits resumed.

Ty didn't really need to reflect on who the watching enemy was. He already knew that if he opened his eyes, he would come face to face with one of his youngest and most pitiless foes.

He had no intention of opening his eyes. He was going to lie here and pretend to be dead like pretending to be dead was an Olympic level sport.

The breathing continued, enhanced by the occasional, barely-vocalized huff.

He took that to be an excellent sign. The huffing meant the enemy was losing her cool, and once she had lost her cool, she would almost certainly abandon the game. She would lose, and Ty would win, if only by default.

Then, the enemy upped the stakes, demonstrating that when it came to following the rules, she was very much her father's daughter, and maybe even her uncle's niece.

She  _sniffed_.

And  _not_  in an elegant way. A wet, loud, gronking sniff that came all the way from the base of her lungs.

Under the covers, hidden from watching eyes, Ty's hands clenched into fists.

She gronked again, then started to hum. After two minutes, the humming escalated into a chorus of tra-la-las. Slowly but surely, over the next thirty seconds, the tra-la-las morphed into a tune. And not a pleasant, agreeable tune—that stupid fucking Voltron song.

He couldn't take it. He was done.

He'd once survived almost three weeks as a prisoner-of-war in Afghanistan, but the pain he'd endured during that time was nothing compared to barely six minutes under his niece's impatient glare.

Ty opened his eyes, and there she was, barely an arm's length away, clad in the pink, Star Wars-themed pajamas he and Zane had bought her for Christmas a few months before.

She grinned and waved her Barbie doll in his face. He winced as Astronaut Barbie's boots smacked him soundly across the chin.

"Good morning," he said.

"I want pancakes," Amelia Grady announced.

Next to him, Zane let out a groan. "Time is it?" he whispered hoarsely.

Ty checked the clock. "Ten after seven."

Zane curled up into the fetal position and pulled the covers up over his head. "What kind of demon wakes people up at ten after seven on a  _Sunday morning_?" he asked in a muffled but outraged tone.

"The five-year-old kind."

"I'm five-and-a-half," Amelia proudly proclaimed. She huffed and battered him with her Barbie again. "And you told me I could have pancakes for breakfast."

"No, I didn't," Ty said.

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Actually, you did," Zane told him from under the quilt.

"When?"

"Last night, when you were tucking the demon into bed."

Ty sat up and frowned. "Why don't I remember that?" Given there was no booze in the house, certainly not because he'd had too much to drink.

"Maybe because of all the, uh,  _games_  we played in the living room later on?"

Ty smirked. Now,  _that_ , he remembered, all too well.

Jesus. The things he'd done to Zane with his hands…

"I want to play the game, too," Amelia said.

As Zane snickered, Ty shook his head. "It's a  _really_  boring game that only boring, old people play. You wouldn't like it. Trust me."

Amelia scrunched her face. "You're lying."

"Am not."

"Are too." She pouted and crossed her arms. "And I'm telling mom."

"Go right ahead. Your mom won't care."

"Then I'm telling grandma."

"She's a Grady, all right," Zane quietly put in. "First sign of dissent, she goes straight for the nuclear option."

"You hush," Ty muttered. "Unless you want the nuclear option as well."

"Would invoking the nuclear option give me the chance to go back to sleep?"

"Can I have M&Ms in my pancakes?" Amelia asked, randomly switching to a new topic in a way that only a five-year-old could.

Ty frowned and stroked his chin, pretending to mull her question over. "I dunno. Candy for breakfast? That's a  _heck_  of a lot to ask. Not sure your mom and dad would approve."

" _I_  won't tell," Amelia vowed, conveniently forgetting the threat she'd issued barely a minute before.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay, then I guess you can." Ty made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go get the bag out of the cupboard. And the box of pancake mix as well."

Grinning like a possum eating a sweet potato, Amelia thundered out of the room.

With the enemy gone from the scene, Zane emerged from his cosy cocoon. "You better hope she doesn't repeat that line to her mom," he warned.

"What line?"

"The one about us playing games."

Ty snickered. "Yeah, pretty sure Livi would know  _exactly_  what that meant." He shrugged slightly. "Doubt she'd care, though. Not like she and Deuce have never played grown-up games of their own."

"Yeah, except you're already on a warning after the waterboarding thing."

"Still don’t get what all the fuss was about."

Zane gave him a withering glare. "Ty, you showed a bunch of five-year-old girls how to waterboard a doll. Livi said she's  _still_  getting angry phone calls about it."

"Eh, whatever. Should be glad it was only waterboarding. I could have shown them all how to have Nuclear Scientist Barbie build a dirty bomb instead."

"Since when do you know how to build a dirty bomb?"

"I don't," Ty said. "But what the hell do a bunch of five-year-olds know?"

"Anyone ever told you what a  _terrible_  human being you are?"

"Only, like, every third or fourth person I've met?"

"Uncle Ty!" Amelia hollered up from below.

"What is it, sweetie?" Ty shouted back.

"I can't find the box of pancake mix!"

"It's in the cupboard next to the fridge," Zane (the pancake maker) advised.

Ty called out, "Look in the cupboard next to the fridge!"

A few moments, the sound of a five-year-old going and coming, then, "I found it!"

"Put it up on the kitchen table, we'll be down in a minute, okay?"

Zane threw the bed-covers back and swung his bare feet onto the floor. "Speaking of people giving you warnings, your mom'll be really pissed if she finds out we fed her grand-daughter pancakes that came out of a box."

"The hell's wrong with the pre-made mix?"

"Not a thing. But your mom always makes her pancakes from scratch.  _And_  she uses organic flour."

"The ones she fed us when we were kids weren't made from organic flour," Ty pointed out. "Didn't do me or Deuce any harm."

Zane opened his mouth, paused, frowned, then shut it again.

"Uncle Ty, I'm hun-gry!" Amelia wailed.

"Jesus, you'd think she was dying," Ty muttered, reaching out to grab and pull on a t-shirt and jeans.

"Not her fault she's used to being around adults who jump to meet her every whim."

Dressed and (more or less) awake, the two of them trundled down the stairs.

Amelia was waiting for them in the kitchen, hands on hips, scowling intently, tapping her right foot on the floor.

"Okay, pancakes," Zane said, going to the fridge to pull out the butter and milk. "How many do you want?"

"Six!" Amelia said.

Ty went to check his phone, but there were no voicemails or messages waiting for him. Deuce and Livi were obviously having too much fun on their dirty weekend away to worry about how their daughter was doing. Or maybe they were making the most of the peace and quiet, before the second Grady demon arrived.

"You'll never eat six pancakes," Ty said. "We'll make you two, and take it from there."

Amelia huffed, but wisely didn't object.

Ten minutes later, Her Imperial Majesty's breakfast was ready.

Zane slid two M&M-riddled pancakes onto a plate, which he then placed in front of their guest, along with a small glass of milk. "Okay, eat those and drink that," he ordered, using his best Loving But Authoritative Uncle tone.

While Zane started another batch, and Amelia picked the pieces of candy out of her food, Ty grabbed a pair of mugs from the cupboard and leaned out to put the kettle on.

It was all so frighteningly mundane—making tea for himself and his spouse and pancakes for a five-year-old girl. Was this really what his life had become?

"Penny for your thoughts," Zane said.

"Sorry?"

"Just wondering what you're looking so pensive about."

Ty smiled. "Just thinking about how normal and boring my life has become."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Not bad, just not what I ever thought it would be. Ten years ago, if you'd told me this is where I'd end up, I'd have laughed in your face, and asked you if you were smoking crack."

"Ten years ago, I probably was," Zane said in a quiet voice. He sighed and smiled. "But you know what they say. Life is what happens while you're making other plans."

"Yeah, but did your life plans ever include babysitting a five-year-old girl?"

"I finished my pancakes," the five-year-old girl in question said. "Can I have another one?"

"What's the magic word?" Ty asked, remembering his mother's stern warning to watch his manners, and praying to God she wouldn't say 'now'.

Luckily, "Please?" was his niece's reply.

Zane nodded. "Coming right up. Just need to make one for your Uncle Ty first."

"She can have the next one as well," Ty said, holding up a refusing hand. "It's okay, I can wait."

"What was that I just said about how she's used to being with adults who jump to meet her every whim?"

"Are you talking about me?" Amelia wanted to know, giving them both a suspicious stare.

"Course not," Ty said. "Why would your Uncle Zane and I ever want to talk about you?"

"You're lying again."

"Maybe I am. What's your point?"

"I'm telling grandma."

"You said that already."

"So?"

"So, you can't use the same threat twice in one day."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"You're not my dad."

"No, but this  _is_  my house."

She paused to reconsider her plan. "I'm telling grandpa, then."

"Go right ahead. I'll tell him you snuck downstairs at two in the morning while your Uncle Zane and I were asleep, and ate all of the M&Ms."

Zane started to laugh, then bit his lip and turned his attention back to the pan.

"That's not fair!" Amelia shouted in a scandalized tone.

"Oh, honey, whoever told you life was fair?"

"Jesus Ty, she's five years old," Zane muttered. He turned to the table, pan in hand. "Here you go, sweetie," he said, sliding another golden-brown pancake onto the little girl's plate.

"But there are no M&Ms in it," Amelia whined.

Zane sighed and stroked the bridge of his nose. "Is everyone in the Grady family like this, or is it just the two of you who got the full dose?"

Ty opened an overhead cupboard, pulled out a small metal bowl, filled it halfway full of M&Ms, then placed it in front of his truculent niece. "There. M&Ms. Knock yourself out."

"But they're not  _in_  the pancakes," was the next, slightly pompous complaint.

"Oh, so you don't want them, then?" Ty said, moving to pull the bowl away.

Her hand shot out to pull the bowl back. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"Uh huh."

"You really think that's a good idea?" Zane murmured, low enough that only Ty could hear.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Cus now she'll be able to go home and tell her mom you gave her a bowl of candy for breakfast. You'll really be in the doghouse, then."

"You're talking about me again!" Amelia said.

"Yeah, we are," Ty said to his niece. "What's your sassy ass gonna do about it?"

"I'm telling dad."

Surprise, surprise—the one remaining close family member whose name she hadn't as yet invoked.

"Is that before or after you tell grandma, grandpa and mom?"

Amelia huffed, trying to untangle her previous threats, no longer sure of what answer to give.

"Eat your pancake, honey," Zane said. "Ignore your mean, old Uncle Ty. He's just feeling a little bit snarky today."

"Uncle Zane, what does snarky mean?"

Ty narrowed his eyes at his spouse, silently warning the other man to choose his next words with care.

Zane opted for a peaceful response. "It means he's being rude and funny at the same time."

"Like banpa Chester?"

"Like banpa Chester, yeah."

"I like banpa Chester. He smells weird, but he makes me laugh."

"That means you like your Uncle Ty as well, right?" Ty asked, eyebrows raised, his tone making it very clear what his niece's answer should be. "Right?" he repeated firmly when that answer didn't appear.

Amelia sighed. "I suppose."

"What the fudging heck does that mean, you  _suppose_?"

"I like you more than Uncle Theo," Amelia explained, referring to her mother's brother. "But I like Uncle Zane the most."

At the stove, Zane silently mouthed a 'yes' and made a victory fist with his hand.

"But he's not even your  _actual_  uncle," Ty indignantly pointed out. "He's just married to me.  _I'm_  the biological one."

"It still counts," Zane said, sounding far too pleased with himself for Ty's liking.

"Does not."

"Does too."

"Since fucking when?!"

Amelia squealed in shock. "You can't say that!" she yelled.

Ty mentally kicked himself in the ass, then quickly thought his options through. "Say what?" he innocently asked, going for the outright denial solution.

"The f-word!"

"But I didn't say the f-word."

"Did, too."

"Did not."

She thumped the table with her hand. "Did, too!"

"When?"

"When you were talking to Uncle Zane. You said the f-word!"

" _William Shatner_ , did I go all mean and grumpy, and call him a stupid fart again?"

"It wasn't fart."

"Silly me, of course it wasn't." Ty pretended to think. "Was fiddlesticks the word you mean?"

"No!"

"How about fudging? Cus that's  _really_  bad. If I said fudging, I'm going to heck."

"No!"

"Then what?"

"You said FUCK!" Amelia explained.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she gasped and clamped both hands across it, not quite believing what she'd just said.

"Amelia Evelyn Eleanor Grady!" Ty dramatically exclaimed, stepping back as if he'd been slapped, then dropping his jaw and holding a spread-fingered hand to his chest. "Where on  _earth_  did you hear language like  _that_?"

It didn't take Amelia long to figure out she'd walked into a trap. Ty expected no less of his niece—she had the best (and worst) of the Grady genes, and Grady standards to maintain.

"I don't like you," she primly proclaimed.

Ty winked and flashed her a shit-eating grin, ready to wind her another turn. "You're gonna like me even less in two or three seconds from now."

"Why?"

He leaned forward to grab the remains of her half-eaten pancake from her plate.

"That's my pancake!" she wailed, reaching out to grab it back.

"Then why weren't you eating it instead of mashing it into your plate?"

Amelia sniffed, leaned back and crossed her arms. "It's okay. I didn't want it anyway."

"Then you won't mind if I eat it, will you?" Ty popped the pancake into his mouth. "Hmm, delicious. Uncle Zane'll need to make me some more." 

Zane rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. "You want another pancake, honey?" he asked.

Amelia shook her head. "No, thank you." She looked to Ty. "Can I watch my cartoons now?" she asked.

"Only once you've finished your milk."

"Do I  _have_  to drink it?"

"YES," Ty and Zane told her together.

She heaved a wounded, put-upon sigh, gave them her best puppy-dog stare, then realizing her uncles were immune to her charms, carefully grasped the glass with both hands, and slowly but surely drank the milk down. When she was finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and let out an indelicate burp.

"Well, aren't you an elegant girl?" Ty said.

Amelia giggled, slid out of her chair, grabbed her bowl of M&Ms and scampered into the living room to find the remote.

"But only thirty minutes, okay?" Ty called out after her. "And no Voltron!"

To nobody's surprise, she didn't respond.

Zane slid two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. As he handed the plate to Ty, he said, "Can't believe you just tricked a five-year-old girl into dropping an f-bomb at the breakfast table." He turned back to the stove to start on two more.

"Pretty cool, right?"

Zane gave him a glare. "That wasn't the word I was thinking, no."

"C'mon, man. Not like it'll do any lasting harm."

"Not to her. But if grandma Grady ever finds out, you'll probably need to give Clancy a call, ask her if she can find you a place in the Witness Protection Program."

"Nah, it's fine, Millie won't tell."

"You seem very sure about that."

Ty paused to take a quick bite of his food. "One of the oldest tricks in the book," he said. "You want someone  _not_  to reveal you've done something wrong, you trick them into doing something naughty themselves. Then, they can't rat you out without landing in all kinds of shit as well."

"You learn that from your psychology course?"

"Actually, from Deuce."

"He  _is_  a psychiatrist, so that makes sense."

"He knew how to do it even before he became a shrink." Ty groaned, remembering one of his brother's more egregious sins. "He pulled a  _whopper_  on me when we were kids. Broke one of the arms on a bench in the park, persuaded me to check if the other one was okay."

"Lemme guess. You broke that one, too."

Ty nodded and grinned. "Snapped it clean off. He laughed so hard he almost shit in his pants. But don't worry, I got my revenge. The next morning at breakfast, I farted all over his toast."

"And you wonder where Millie gets all her elegance from?"

"You think  _that's_  bad, you should've seen the time Deuce cried in the shower cus I made him believe that men are supposed to have three balls."

"So glad I had a sister instead."

"Please. Not like women are any kinder. Emma-Lou once swapped out a photo of Silas on the living room wall for a publicity shot of Nicholas Cage. Was six months before anyone noticed. And don't get me  _started_  on the time she picked up one of the twins from the station holding a hand-made sign that said  _Congratulations On Making Parole_."

Zane let out a tolerant sigh—the sound of a man coming to terms with his fate. "I married into a family of manipulative, snarky, lunatic assholes, didn't I?"

"I prefer to think of us as having highly creative interpersonal skills."

"Creative, right. For the sake of our marriage and my relationship with your folks, let's go with that."

"Don't remember you complaining too much about my interpersonal skills last night."

"Do I  _look_  like I'm complaining?"

"Your lips are moving, so kinda, yeah."

"Funny."

Ty set his plate down on the counter, snuggled up behind his spouse, wrapped his arms around Zane's waist, and kissed him gently on the neck. "You ask me nicely, I'll give you another demonstration of my interpersonal skills tonight," he murmured, breathing in Zane's comforting scent. "Gimme ten minutes, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to trick you into dropping an f-bomb as well."

"The hellion's being picked up at four."

"So, we'll be back to having the house to ourselves. We won't have to worry about being caught in the act."

Except by the cats, both of whom had seen it before, and both of whom had fled into hiding the moment the hellion had stepped through the door.

"What'd you have in mind?" Zane asked. "Cus I've already tested your, uh,  _manual_  skills."

Ty slipped a hand up under Zane's tee, enjoying the groan and shiver the motion produced. He stood on his toes to nip at Zane's ear. "How about, instead of me using my hands, I show you how creative I can be with my mouth?"


End file.
